by Meghan March
The woman sitting next to me at the table probably has enough money that she could bail out my club without thinking twice or even feeling a financial pinch. And I would never, ever let her fucking do it. It might fucking kill my pride even to hear her suggest it.
She opens her mouth, and I hold up a hand.
“I’m not trying to be rude, but if you’re going to offer anything other than your beautiful face showing up in my club to help bring customers in, please don’t. I won’t ever take your money, Scarlett. Not fucking ever. That’s not the kind of man I am. It’s not why I’m sitting in your house right now, and that is one thing that will never fucking change.” I meet her gray gaze and make sure she understands. “I’m here for you. Nothing else. Get me?”
Her lips press together in a flat line as she blinks up at me. “I get you. But I would never insult you by coming in and throwing money at your problems to fix them. Still, you have to understand where I’m sitting, Gabriel.”
She pauses and sucks in a breath, like she’s gathering the courage to finish. I give her space, and she speaks again.
“It terrifies me to think of you stepping into a cage with a man who teaches me how to kill people. I didn’t just get a second chance at having something real with you to lose you just as fast.”
Fuck.
My chest. It feels like I’m having a goddamned heart attack.
But I’m not.
I’m falling for this woman who I have no business bringing into my life.
Then why the fuck are you sitting at her kitchen table, asshole? I thought we already made this decision. You’re in this. Now stop being a fucking pussy and man up. It’s that fucking conscience of mine, and it’s right.
Our gazes collide and hold for long moments, and I give her the most honesty I can.
“There are no guarantees in the cage. Once a fight starts, all you can do is trust the skills you’ve spent years honing.”
“But, Bodhi . . . he’s—”
“I beat him once,” I tell her with all seriousness. “And if I fight him again, I’ll beat him. Again. I won’t have a choice. That fight will be do or die.”
Horror contorts her face, and I could rip my own fucking tongue out for saying it. Jesus Christ, man, she’s recovering from surgery. This is not how you handle shit. Keep it light.
But Scarlett doesn’t dissolve into tears. I should have given her more credit, just like I wish she’d give it to me.
“Whatever you decide, I’m done training with Bodhi. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“If there’s anything at all I can do to help, without straight-up offering money, you will ask me. I might have been raised in an ivory tower, but I do understand the real world, and there are things I bring to the table that can be helpful.”
She’s right, and the promise should be easy to make, but my basic instinct is to keep her safe.
“I’ll make you a deal, ladybug. If there’s anything you can do to help that won’t put you or your business or your reputation at risk, then I’ll ask you. That’s the best I can offer right now.”
She holds out her hand, looking adorable with her rumpled hair and wearing a robe, but her handshake offer is official as fuck. “I’ll take your deal, bossy.”
A chuckle escapes my lips as I pretend to spit in my hand before I take hers to shake.
Her eyes are like saucers, but she doesn’t flinch and repeats the motion into her palm. Hearing her fake spit for a good-old-boy handshake might be the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
But it’s official now, so we shake.
“Good. But bossy is never going to stick.”
Her smile couldn’t be wider. “It might. You never know.”
Thirty-One
Scarlett
The next time I wake up and slip out into the kitchen and living room, I stop short in the doorway. Flynn is laid out on my sofa, her phone in her hand and headphones over her ears. I scan my apartment, but there’s no sign of Gabriel.
What? Like you thought he was moving in and staying forever?
I’m not a fan of the reality check.
I call Flynn’s name, but she’s oblivious. I walk closer and wave both arms over my head, wincing at the stretch. Bad plan. Don’t do that again anytime soon.
Flynn jerks off the couch, her headphones fall off her head, and her phone goes flying. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me. What was that about? Are you practicing standing on top of a building waving down a rescue helicopter or something?”
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
She rolls her eyes at me before she drops to her hands and knees to fish out her phone from under the couch. “Legend. Although Amy would’ve let me in. We bonded at the hospital. I’m pretty sure I could rob you blind now, and she wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.”
She continues rambling about something, but my brain is stuck on her first word. Legend. He let her in.
“He left?” I ask, interrupting her.
“Well, yeah, Scarlett. The man does have a club to run. He said something came up at work when he texted. He didn’t want you waking up alone when he left for a few hours, and since I don’t have class again until tomorrow at eleven, I said no problem. But, I have to say, your couch might be cute, but it’s uncomfortable as fuck.” She stretches her neck from side to side. “I almost crawled in bed with you, but judging by your response to finding me in your living room, I’m guessing that would’ve scared the piss out of you.”
“Good choice,” I tell her, but inside, I can’t help but think the only person I want to wake up and see in my bed is the man who had to leave. The image of a tousled blond head on the pillow beside mine rises in my brain, and I’m in no hurry for it to leave. What a way to start a day.
Flynn, unfortunately, doesn’t know that.
“Did you know that there’s a scientist who is starting to think the appendix might have some kind of use? Better hope it’s not true, because you’ll be fucked.”
“Thanks, Flynn. That’s exactly what I want to hear right after they took mine out.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I know. But it’s better than the alternative, which would have been it rupturing and you dying a long, painful, disgusting, agonizing—”
“I get the picture.”
I release a long sigh and remind myself how grateful I am to have her back in my life. I’ve even written about her in my gratitude journal a few times lately, because it’s so nice to feel like I have family again.
And that thought brings me back to a shitty one I don’t want to think about—my father still hasn’t tried to see me. At all.
“What’s wrong? Are you thinking about your bunk appendix?”
I glance up at her and hit her with full honesty. “I’m thinking about how it sucks that my dad doesn’t give a damn about the fact I just had surgery.”
Flynn’s face lights up. “But he does! He did. He called!”
“What? When?”
“While you were asleep. Your phone was out here. I saw his name come up on the screen, so . . . I kind of answered it.”
Oh Lord. I send up a silent prayer as I ask her, “What did he say? What did you say?”
Flynn’s lips pinch together, and I know guilt when I see it.
“Flynn . . .”
“Look, I just told him the truth—that he was a garbage human for not coming to the hospital when you were having surgery. I also might’ve mentioned that he was a super piece of shit for not sending flowers or calling to check on you sooner.”
“What did he say?” I brace, because my father doesn’t like being reminded of his shortcomings.
“That he was busy, and you would understand because, unlike his ungrateful former stepdaughter, you are an adult who gets that there are sometimes business matters that must be handled before personal ones. He also said, and I quote, ‘Scarlett can handle herself. She doesn’t need her father holding her hand a
nymore.’”
“He never held my hand,” I say quietly, before turning around so she can’t see the pain on my face.
“Oh shit, Scarlett. I’m sorry. He’s a fucking asshole and a shit dad, and I wish I could change that for you. At least he’s around sometimes, though. I haven’t seen my dad in fourteen years. I don’t even bother to Facebook stalk him anymore because he looks so happy not having me in his life. I fucking hate him for that.” By the time Flynn finishes her statement, she’s standing in the kitchen with her arms wrapped around my shoulders in a hug. “We can make voodoo dolls and stab them, if it’ll make you feel better. I may or may not know where to get the scary shit that makes it work for real.”
I lean against Flynn for a moment, soaking up the sisterly affection. It’s something I’d wanted for years, until my first stepsister, Martina, turned out to be a manipulative monster who my mother wanted to strangle on my behalf. I stopped going to my father’s house during the days he was supposed to have custody, but he never complained or really even seemed to notice.
I got the message loud and clear, Dad. Reinforced over and over again until there’s no chance of me misunderstanding. I don’t matter to you at all.
“Let’s put the brakes on this pity party and get you some food, okay?” Flynn says, releasing her grip on me and meeting my eyes.
“Sounds like a plan. What are you making?”
Flynn chokes out a laugh. “Like I know how to cook? I grew up a rich kid in Manhattan. Takeout is my life. But I can find some home cookin’ and pretend I made it, if that makes you feel better.”
I can almost smell it. “Mashed potatoes do sound really good right about now.”
“I know exactly the right place. I drowned myself in their fried chicken after this stupid frat boy tried to humiliate me in class because I wouldn’t give him head in the library.”
My mama bear instincts rise to the surface with a vengeance. “What’s his name? I will ruin his life.”
Flynn stares at me, blinking over and over for a few beats. “You . . . you’d do that for me?”
She sounds so young and surprised, that my heart hurts for her. She didn’t have a good mom, and I should know, because her mom was my stepmother too.
I wrap an arm around Flynn’s shoulders. “We’re family, Flynn. Nothing changes that. I’ll always have your back.”
Her smile could light up the entire city. “I’m really fucking glad that limp dick of an ex-boyfriend sent you to my therapist’s office.”
“Me too, kid. Me too.”
Thirty-Two
Legend
As much as I’d rather be at Scarlett’s place instead of the club, I don’t have a choice. Q called and said Rolo showed up and wanted to see me. When Q told him I wasn’t around, Rolo made a scene, accusing me of dodging him and generally being a bitch.
Not in my house.
So here I am, walking into the club wearing ripped jeans and a black hoodie, something that wouldn’t meet our dress code, but I don’t give a damn. If Rolo wants to call me out, he can do it to my face, and I don’t have to worry about fucking up one of my very few suits when I beat the shit out of him.
Except I should have known better. I should have known Rolo wouldn’t dare step up to me in person. Instead, he’s all smiles when I walk into the VIP section where Q put him to shut him up until I could get there.
“Man, it’s been weeks, and you haven’t answered my texts. I’ve been working my ass off to put together some action for you, but if you’re going to keep blowing me off, I’ll work my ass off for someone else.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything, Rolo.”
He leans back against the leather bench seat and gives me a chin jerk. “I know you, Legend. Better than most of the assholes in this town. You need cash, and I’m your man. So, why not get rich together?”
He’s sold me before using the same speech, but I’m not the same man I was back then. Something Rolo doesn’t know and will probably never realize. But . . . I still need money. Once the investors review the most recent financial statements, phone calls are going to start coming in, and I’ll have to answer for the disappointing numbers. But Rolo doesn’t know that, and I’m not going to let him see me sweat. Not a chance in hell.
“I’m out of the game, Rolo. No more underground fights. I’m not living that life anymore.”
Rolo leans back, and he fucking laughs. “Guys like you don’t get out of the game, Legend. They live it until the end when they die in it. You may think you’re better than me now, but I’ve heard the rumors. Your club is struggling. You need help.”
Rage burns through my veins.
“You don’t know shit about my club, and if you’re the one spreading those rumors, you and I can step into the cage together and sort it out.”
Rolo holds up one hand and backpedals. “Damn, man. Must be worse than I heard. I didn’t mean to poke a sore spot. I’m just here to help. I didn’t start any rumors, but that doesn’t mean they ain’t out there. Like the one about Black wanting his rematch bad enough that he’s willing to fuck up your life to get it.”
The fury I’m feeling turns ice cold as I reach out and grab Rolo by the collar of his shirt. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
All remaining traces of humor disappear from the man’s face. “Hey. Chill out. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
My molars grind together as I’m filled with the urge to shake the answers loose, but I don’t release my grip. “Tell me what the fuck you meant.”
“Rumor has it Black could’ve had something to do with the shit that went down at the club. I didn’t hear much. Just a whisper.”
I let go of Rolo’s shirt, and he slumps against the seat. “Where the fuck did the whisper come from?”
“I ran into Black’s buddy, his cutman, on the subway coming back from Brooklyn. He didn’t say much. Just that he wanted the fight, bad. You can make a fuck ton more from a grudge match because of the hype. You know it. I know it. Let’s make it real and cash the fuck in.”
I don’t answer him. There’s nothing left to say. I get up and walk the fuck away.
“Legend. What the fuck?” Rolo yells after me, but I keep going. “Gabriel! Wha—”
He finally goes silent when I disappear through the hidden glass door. I don’t turn around to see his face, but I can picture him gaping after me.
I don’t give a shit.
If Bodhi Black did anything to fuck with my club, he’s going to answer for it. I’ve let the need for revenge against Moses Buford Gaspard eat at me for fifteen years, and I’m not doing that again.
It’s time to handle shit.
Thirty-Three
Scarlett
I’m stuffed after the pint of mashed potatoes I managed to devour, and now Flynn and I are laid out on my bed, flipping through our phones and comparing social media feeds.
Hers is all cars, exotic locations, and dark-haired men with tattoos, while mine is light, fun pictures of families, design, decor, flea markets, auction houses, secondhand stores, fashion, and fitness. We couldn’t be any more different if we tried.
“You really follow these families, people don’t know, like they’re celebrities?” Flynn still can’t get over my obsession with my favorite hashtag, #LifeIsMessy.
“Why should I care more about what celebrities are doing than real people, living real lives?”
Flynn gapes at me like I’m nuts. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe because first, you are a celebrity, and second, they’re your biggest clients.”
“Which is exactly why I follow all the stuff they don’t know about so I can show them what they want.”
“That seems unbelievably backward.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and I’m surprised to see it’s Christine, my financial advisor. Then I remember the time difference—she’s in California.
* * *
Christine: You up for a call tomorrow? Ryan and I have been trying to hold off. He really wanted
to bring the gift basket to the hospital personally, but I wasn’t sure you’d want even more company than you already had.
Scarlett: You know I love you both, and having it delivered was more than enough. My schedule is wide open. Amy has banned me from working until next week.
Christine: Good, then you’ll have time to catch us up on what the hell is going on with you. Ryan’s worried.
Scarlett: You mean you’re worried and passing it off on Ryan because you don’t want me to know you have feelings?
Christine: My heart is black. I’ll text with a time in the morning. Take care and heal fast, Scarlett.
* * *
I send one last reply with a dozen heart and kissy faces, which will make her throw her phone down in disgust. Christine doesn’t do emotion. She lives for the numbers and hard facts.
The sound of a car engine revving from Flynn’s phone steals my attention. “What are you watching?”
“Race videos. Want to see me kick some ass?”
My head jerks back and I stare at her in surprise. “You post videos of your races online? They’re illegal, Flynn! That is the dumbest thing you could possibly do. It’s like robbing a bank and posting a picture of the money!”
The side-eye I get from my former stepsister borders on legendary.
“Do you really think I’d take a risk like that? I’m not stupid. Ever since boarding school, I’ve worn a black helmet with a bandana over my mouth and nose under it, so I’m totally anonymous, even when I flip the visor up. No one knows who I am in real life. They only know me as the Black Widow.”
I drop my phone on the bed and dip my forehead to rest against my raised fingers. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Sure did. And no, I didn’t give myself the nickname. I’m not that arrogant. Some asshole did after he lost his GT-R to me. It had a stage three Cobb tune and everything. He was pissed.”
